dismiss the telegram
|
this is no exhibition
|
a pile of papers that are bound and tethered
|
we know the end of man
|
will stem from stale tradition
|
relaying opinions changing like the weather
|
|
and this will never be
|
and this will never be reversed
|
an installation
|
sending an open invitation
|
to all the pioneers
|
driven by suspicion
|
the old world is gone and we keep wishing
|
for a new frontier
|
to sink our teeth in
|
and forget what you thought you believed in
|
|
the plans we execute
|
are far between and few
|
but I¡¯ll go around the world
|
just for something to do
|
existance is fleeting you spend your life dreaming
|
the shores are exhausted the tide is receding
|
|
and this will never be
|
and this will never be reversed
|
an installation
|
sending an open invitation
|
to all the pioneers
|
driven by suspicion
|
the old world is gone and we keep wishing
|
for a new frontier
|
to sink our teeth in
|
and forget what you thought you believed in
|
|
and those who
|
resisted were dragged out from their homes
|
this necklace was fashioned
|
out of their teeth and bones.
|
and those who
|
resisted were dragged out from their homes
|
this necklace was fashioned
|
out of their teeth and bones.
|
out of their teeth and bones.
|
|
to all the pioneers
|
driven by suspicion
|
the old world is gone and we keep wishing
|
for a new frontier
|
to sink our teeth in
|
and forget what you thought you believed in
|
|
existance is fleeting
|
existance is fleeting
|
existance is fleeting
|
existance is fleeting
|
|
-----------------
|
Pioneers
|
From Autumn To Ashes |